A humorous view of politics, religion, human behavior, and insights toward everyday happenings by a single guy living in downtown Chicago.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Prom Nightmares

Have you guys heard about the teen in Houston Texas who was prohibited from attending her prom because of her skimpy dress?

No?

Okay. Here’s the story. This 17 year-old teen, Marche Taylor, arrived at her prom wearing a little more than a nasal strip. She became belligerent when school officials wouldn’t allow her in, they called the police, she was handcuffed and led away.

The thing is, all students had previously signed a form that outlined the dress code for the prom. It’s pretty outrageous that she thought her outfit was appropriate. If you read the comments on the news story, just about everyone was writing, “How could her mother possibly think this was okay to wear?”

We don’t know what occurred with the mother. Frankly, I’m not going to pass judgment on the mother just yet. I can just see this kid throwing a tantrum and demanding to wear the dress. If I had been the parent, I would have said, “Fine. Wear the dress. I hope it looks good with handcuffs.”

I can relate to Marche Taylor. My prom was a disaster.

I had “dated” the same girl since we were 13. Judy and I were more of “best friends” than boyfriend-and-girlfriend. At least I thought so; Judy probably thought differently.

It came time for the prom and I, of course asked Judy to go. However, we had one of our many fights right before the prom and broke up. My grandmother never really liked Judy very much because she was Catholic and my grandmother was a die-hard Baptist, bless her heart.

So, when Judy and I broke up, my grandmother saw this as her chance for me to take a proper young lady to the prom. By “proper” I mean the new Baptist preacher’s daughter, Cindy.

Cindy and her family had just moved to town and my grandmother thought Cindy was just about the greatest thing ever, especially for her grandson. No one had invited Cindy to the prom because (1) she was new to school (2) she was the Baptist preacher’s daughter (3) she wasn’t allowed to dance.

My grandmother was really pestering me to take her. Frankly, Cindy was drop-dead gorgeous but I wasn’t into girls at all, drop-dead gorgeous or otherwise. However, taking Cindy to the prom would be a great way to get back at Judy, so in a weak moment, I asked Cindy to accompany me to the prom.

Do you see “disaster” looming on the horizon?

Frankly, I was surprised that her dad let her go. In hindsight, since I was the pianist at his church, he probably knew, deep down, that I’d be the last person to try any hanky-panky with his precious daughter.

He was right about me. He was wrong about his daughter, but I’ll get to that later.

We arrive at the prom. Cindy looked gorgeous. I looked ever-so dashing in my powder-blue rented tux with the black-tipped ruffles.

Of course, Cindy didn’t dance but she said I was welcome to. After a while, the band began playing Colour My World and I asked Judy to dance. (My best friend, Sam, had asked Judy to go).

Of course, we made up on the dance floor and continued to dance. How can you not make up when swaying to Colour My World?

The prom ended and I drove Cindy home. She was really a trooper, having sat there the whole time and not dancing with anyone.

As protocol dictated, I walked her to the door. At the front door, she wheeled around facing me with a big “come hither” smile on her face and leaned in. I started to give her a peck on the cheek but the next thing I knew, her crowbar tongue was down to my tonsils.

Oh! My! God! My first thought was, “Germs! Germs!”

Judy had never done that to me before.

I was also thinking, “Onion dip! Onion dip!” (which had been served at the prom).

Finally, Cindy relinquished me from her death grip and I ushered her in the door. Just as I got home, the phone rang and it was Cindy. Apparently, she wasn’t done with me yet.

“Your mom and grandmother haven’t seen my dress. I’d really like to show it to them. Can you come get me?”

My grandmother demanded that I go retrieve Cindy and bring her over.

Of course, my grandmother ooooh’d and aaaw’d over what a fine couple we made. Photos we taken.

When I arrived with Cindy back at her house, she made another lunge at me in the car. I flinched, backed away and she ended up storming off into her house.

I went home to gargle. . . .

Twenty years later, I was at my high school reunion and there was Cindy. She had been married, divorced, married again, became an Episcopalian and was drinking a wine cooler.

We talked about that night at the prom, I told her what the “real deal” was, and we had a really good laugh over it.

Hopefully, this Marche Taylor will one day be laughing at herself and the dress she wore to her prom.